Some time during the forenoon of the following day the unprepossessing outline of an undersized young man with a short black bristling moustache, who wore a bowler hat, a pair of smart brown boots, and trim overcoat of blue melton cloth with a velvet collar, might have been observed in conference with one of the stalwart custodians of the portals of a massive building in the purlieus of Bloomsbury. The young man, who was somewhat pale and rather excited in his manner, bore under his right arm a brown-paper parcel of not inconsiderable bulk. “Can’t deal with it ’ere,” said the custodian of the portals, without any display of amiability that would have incurred the charge of excessive. “Better take it round to Mr. Tovey. First to the left, second to the right when you come to the top of the second flight of stairs.” In the course of a few minutes the bearer of the brown-paper parcel had made his way into the presence of Mr. Tovey--a bald-headed and black-coated gentleman whose mien was one of determined and unalterable impassiveness. Mr. Tovey viewed the bearer of the parcel, and particularly the parcel itself, with a polite disfavour, which, however, did not in any sense transcend the bounds indicated by an official courtesy. “The English Museum Authorities,” said Mr. Tovey, as his visitor took the liberty of depositing the brown-paper parcel upon a table without seeking permission to do so, “the English Museum Authorities are not empowered to undertake the care of the written manuscripts or typescripts of living persons.” “Yes, but you see,” said the bearer of the parcel anxiously, “but you see, the poor chap happens to be dying.” “I am afraid, sir,” said Mr. Tovey, with a sympathy that was very nicely poised, “that even that unfortunate contingency is not sufficient to justify the Museum Authorities from breaking through their fixed rule. That rule is perfectly explicit; it cannot admit the manuscripts or typescripts of living persons.” “Are there no exceptions?” said the bearer of the parcel. “If exceptions there are,” said Mr. Tovey impressively, “and as I speak there are none I can call to mind, they would only be in favour of persons of such remarkable distinction that they would form no precedent.” “That is all right, then,” said the bearer of the parcel with an air of relief, “because it happens that this is the work of the greatest poet in the world.” “I beg your pardon,” said Mr. Tovey with a very well-bred air. The bearer of the parcel repeated his assertion. “Is not that a somewhat comprehensive claim to advance on behalf of a living person?” said Mr. Tovey, enunciating his words very delicately. “Well, he seems to think so, at any rate,” said the bearer of the parcel, “and I suppose he ought to know.” “Would you mind informing me of the name of this accomplished person?” said Mr. Tovey, with an effective combination of polite interest and equally polite deprecation.